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Eons ago, when I was a young mom, I began collecting humorous stories from the mouths of babes. Please join me as I share several:
J.J. and the Fancy Lady
J.J. was 3 years old. Held in the arms of his father while in line at a large and prestigious department store, he squirmed with boredom.
Directly in front of J.J. and Dad was a posh lady of about 65 years. Dressed in couture clothing and carrying a smart bag, she regally waited for her turn at the register. “Hey Yady,” J.J. called out. When this woman turned toward him, J.J. stretched his arms out to their maximum. “Ya know what? My Daddy has a penis this loooong!”
Crystal and the Bad People
Little Crystal was a pig-tailed, freckle-faced 5 year old who beamed with enthusiasm. A little ‘mother-to-be,’ she enjoyed helping with all household chores and particularly relished taking care of the mail. “Mom, the mail is here, I’ll bring it in,”Crys stated.
Each day Crys and Mom followed a routine. Mom would go through the mail stack, sorting and discarding unnecessary pieces. Crystal would rip those unwanted items as she had learned that “there are some bad people who could use our mail information in a bad way.”
On this day, Mom was called away from the table when a talkative neighbor stopped by. Crystal decided to continue sorting, having, of course, no idea what this entailed. “I’ve finished!” Crys called out happily a bit later. “I did all the mail and no bad people will get our enfomation.”
It took 17 forms and 11 months for her parents to receive a new IRS refund check.[/nextpage] [nextpage title=”Page 2″ ]
Pamela and her Grandfather
Peter Potter knew that he needed to clean up his foul language now that his daughter was speaking fluently. “Dear,” said Mrs. P. “You must stop cursing in front of Pamela. I’m just waiting for her to say something nasty at nursery school.”
Pamela joined her wealthy and stellar Grandfather each week for a luncheon out. Grandfather was tickled pink that Pamela was not only adorable but also ‘sharp as a tack.’ “Remember to use the small fork when you eat your salad,” he reminded her. “Oh look! There is my neighbor, Dr. Morton. Hi there Doc, ol’ man! This is my granddaughter, Pamela.”
“You have a wonderful Grandfather, Pamela,” the Doctor said as he patted the top of her golden curls. “You are one lucky young lady!”
“Yes,” Pamela responded. “Grandfather is a fuckin’ son-of-a-bitch and I love him.”
“No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,” he began, “especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?”
“They go to hell,” was my ready and orthodox answer.
“And what is hell? Can you tell me that?”
“A pit full of fire.”
“And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?”
“What must you do to avoid it?”
I deliberated a moment: my answer, when it did come was objectionable: “I must keep in good health and not die.”
–Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre